


Preservation

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Tatort
Genre: Cooking, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, They were QUARANTINED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: “Oh, my God,” Thiel said, covering his eyes with his hand. “Why are you like this?”“You always knew that I was like this,” Boerne said, rocking back on his heels with a victorious smile. “And you still let me have the coffee machine.”
Relationships: Karl-Friedrich Boerne/Frank Thiel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Preservation

Thiel was aggressively scrubbing the dishes in the kitchen sink when he heard a knock on the door, heard just above the football analysis podcast that he’d somehow managed to find on his phone. Leftovers that Boerne had forgotten in his apartment two days ago were being heated up in the oven since there was still just too much of it left to put it in the microwave. Surely the knock was just a product of his imagination, so he kept washing the dishes. If someone had actually shown up at his door, they could knock again.

The smell of the cheese melting on top of the casserole filled the apartment as the water ran over Thiel’s hands. Soon the dishes were done and he moved on to cleaning various mugs. One of them definitely belonged to Boerne, since it wasn’t the kind of mug you could get at the hardware store but a hand-made designer brand ceramics mug. He washed it anyway.

Thiel ate a few cucumber slices from the bowl on the counter as he put coffee mugs into the dishrack, listening to the description of a particularly daring goal in a game that fans now spoke of in hushed, awed tones.

It had been a bad few weeks, with being stuck at home all the time. He’d found himself staring at his bicycle longingly, then cleaning it properly to justify the fact that he’d already spent five minutes staring at the dirt on the frame while daydreaming about going outside.

The grass outside was turning green, flowers were peeking out of the earth. Usually at this time of year, Boerne would be outside in the garden with his sunhat on and inspecting every plant around.

There was only so much that he could do at home, even if he’d put a significant dent in his paperwork and cleaned out his inbox properly for the first time in years. Since people weren’t out and about much, there hadn’t been a murder for him to investigate in some time. He’d even dug out the cleaning supplies, soaking his showerhead in vinegar overnight after he’d finished scrubbing the bathroom from top to bottom and mopped the floors.

Boerne had somehow managed to avoid getting infected, instead spending hours every day teaching students online and attending meetings from home. On the days that Thiel went to work, Boerne would drive him there and back, listening attentively to the news all the way.

It was only when the knocking became much louder that Thiel wandered over to the door, wondering if he’d forgotten that he’d ordered something online and a package was being delivered, or if someone had been murdered on the street.

If so, he was at least wearing trousers and a shirt, even if it was covered by Boerne’s apron.

“Classes are over for the day,” Boerne said instead of greeting him when Thiel had opened the door. “And I made us a salad.”

Thiel looked at the wooden salad bowl in Boerne’s hand and at the wine bottle in the other. The salad bowl even had these oversized tossing things that had no other purpose in life.

“Come in then,” Thiel had barely managed to say before Boerne had slipped inside, dressed to the nines as usual and looking around with the air of a cleanliness-obsessed duchess at the sight of the dishes and coffee mugs piled up on the dishrack.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

They saw each other every day.

Thiel had spent most mornings in Boerne’s apartment trying to help him with his state-of-the-art coffee machine, which had rebelliously decided to malfunction. After reading the manual, taking the thing apart and browsing various websites, they had concluded that it was utterly broken. Eventually Thiel had carried his own coffee machine over to Boerne’s apartment because Boerne kept loudly complaining to his students that he hadn’t had any coffee yet and Thiel was sick of hearing it through the walls. Sure, the coffee machine didn’t accept Boerne’s fancy coffee pods, only ground coffee. That had caused a fair amount of shouting until Boerne remembered that he’d stuffed a fancy coffee bag into the back of Thiel’s cupboards a few weeks back.

Boerne had rushed to fetch it with a victorious grin on his face, prancing inside his own apartment while cradling the bag like it was an infant.

Thiel had taken his revenge by spreading a mountain of Boerne’s fancy goat cheese on his toast as Boerne cheered the coffee machine on.

Most of the students appeared to think that he was Boerne’s spouse, and Thiel was in no mood to talk to them about that this was what happened when your longtime friends-with-benefits person did romantic stuff with you until you somehow tentatively edged towards becoming actual partners. It was far easier to just let people to make their own conclusions about their relationship, which usually meant that they assumed that they were banging like a door in a hurricane. It was enough to see Boerne’s smug face whenever someone assumed that they were doing things like that.

Boerne floated around the kitchen, looking far too well-groomed with his manicured nails and deep-conditioned hair. And he was smiling brightly, putting his elaborate salad on the kitchen table before humming in approval about what was in the oven.

Maybe teaching had been easy today, or he’d finished some kind of an assignment.

Thiel would hear about it soon enough, so he focused on the fact that nothing was on fire yet and found the bottle opener so to avoid the inevitable rummaging around that Boerne would get up to if he didn’t find it within fifteen seconds.

For a brief second, Boerne’s hand rested on Thiel’s shoulders before Boerne stepped so close to him that Thiel wondered if they were going to kiss. But that would mean that they might forget themselves and the casserole would burn to a crisp, so that was not an option. Better put a stop to that right now.

“What are you doing?” Thiel asked, bottle opener in one hand. “If you want to kiss, we can do it after dinner.”

“If I’m going to be cooking, I need an apron,” Boerne said, gesturing to Thiel’s body. “But it is good to hear that you are already looking forward to our evening, Thiel.”

T 

“I know that this is just a ploy to get me to spend the night at your place so that I’ll have direct access to coffee-“

“And yet you fall for it,” Boerne said, pulling the casserole out of the oven. “That, and this delicious meal is too irresistible to refuse.”

hen he untied the sensible knot Thiel had made to keep the apron in place, fingers delicately brushing Thiel’s neck as he pulled the apron off.

“I’ll get you your own apron when this is over,” Boerne said, “so you’ll stop stealing mine.”

“Don’t leave it in my kitchen if you don’t want me to wear it,” Thiel countered as Boerne smoothed out the fabric like a dashing television show chef. “And you better return my coffee machine, too.”

“I treat it better than you do,” Boerne said, adjusting his glasses. “I give it good coffee grounds and reusable filters, I even wash the drip drawer-“

“Oh, my God,” Thiel said, covering his eyes with his hand. “Why are you like this?”

“You always knew that I was like this,” Boerne said, rocking back on his heels with a victorious smile. “And you still let me have the coffee machine.”

“I also found the fancy vanilla-bean ice cream you hid in my freezer,” Thiel informed him, setting the table. “Don’t you think that I don’t know how you plot these kinds of things by now.”

“Ah, I’ve been found out,” Boerne said theatrically, putting the casserole down on a wire cooling rack and dumping Thiel’s cucumber slices straight into his salad. “How terrible.”

“You don’t look very guilty about it,” Thiel said, filling a pitcher with water and putting it on the kitchen table. He eyed the salad, to which his cucumber slices had been sacrificed.

“My plan is working,” Boerne said, turning off the oven. “There is nothing to be guilty about.”

Then he looked at Thiel with what Thiel had learned to understand was his cunning expression.

“You know,” he said, stepping closer to Thiel, “the casserole needs time to cool down.”

“That is true,” Thiel said, looking at the steaming casserole. “Which is why you are going to go to the bathroom to wash your hands while I wash mine in the kitchen sink.”

Boerne sighed as if he hadn’t suggested shower sex as a deeply hygienic option in these troubling times just a few days ago. Then he headed off to the bathroom as Thiel washed both his hands and the sink itself.

When he’d turned off the podcast and dried his hands, Boerne was lighting candles that Thiel knew he’d never bought, nor did he own the stylish tray they were on.

He sat down at his kitchen table, leaning back as Boerne started talking about his day totally unprompted, explaining that his students had done well on their exams and had been very pleased to see that he had a coffee mug beside him as he’d started his lecture.

Boerne put salad on both their plates, then poured the wine as he talked about essay questions and the sheer about of video meetings he’d attended. He waved his fork around when he made points which he found important, which looked far too endearing.

Thiel found himself smiling at Boerne’s antics. He had the feeling that the rest of the evening would turn out just fine.


End file.
